


santa pally (santa baby)

by huphilpuffs



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: AU, Christmas, Co-workers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Secret Santa, also they work for a toilet roll company for no reason, gratuitous use of Mario Kart as a plot device, idk if you could call it enemies it's more like vague dislike/indifference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:48:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21913195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huphilpuffs/pseuds/huphilpuffs
Summary: Phil grabs the first name off the top and hands the pot over. His hands are shaking when he unfolds it and– well fuck.There, in Mr. Fowler’s familiar print, is written:Dan Howell.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 28
Kudos: 140
Collections: Phandom Fic Fests Holiday Exchange 2019





	santa pally (santa baby)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Allthephils](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allthephils/gifts).



> Hello! I really hope you enjoy this little Christmas-y getting together, with a dash of enemies to lovers and trope-y cowoker goodness. I certainly enjoyed writing it. Wishing you the happiest of holidays from your Secret Santa.

“Staff meeting! Mandatory ! Everyone to the break room!”

Loud bangs accompany the words, Mr. Fowler, the head of the marketing department walking between cubicles with a pot and spoon from the break room in his hands. His smile’s stretched wide. He’s always too cheerful — something about fostering a positive work environment, though it’s failed miserably in the two years since Phil got here — but it comes out around the holidays. 

Phil _might_ have put a tiny Christmas tree in his cubicle halfway through November, but at least he didn’t turn decorating the office into a team bonding exercise.

He sighs, hitting CTRL + S to save his work and drags himself to the break room.

Most people are already there. Daphne and Laura are sipping tea in one corner. A few other people are leaning against countertops. Phil still doesn’t know their names. Doris, Michael and John, the most senior staff, are sitting around the table. The fourth chair is left empty. Everyone knows it’s for Mr. Fowler. 

He steps into the room and sits down. Right behind him, Dan slinks in and presses his back against the doorframe, one foot still out the door.

Phil swallows, and shifts closer to Daphne and Laura.

“So, you’re probably wondering why I called you all in here,” says Mr. Fowler, grinning at everyone’s hums of agreement. “Well, we’re going to have another team activity. Christmas is coming up and I’ve decided we’re going to do a marketing department Secret Santa.”

Phil hums, forcing a smile. So does everyone else, except Dan, who lets out an audible groan. 

Mr. Fowler doesn’t acknowledge it. “I put everyone’s names in this pot. Everyone’s gonna choose one and get a gift for that person. Don’t tell anyone.” He looks up. “You guys know how Secret Santa works, right?”

More hums echo in the room. Mr. Fowler passes the pot to John first. It goes to Michael, then Doris, then the people whose names Phil doesn’t know. 

Dan gets the pot next. He grabs a slip of paper and shoves it into his pocket without reading it and hands the pot to Phil.

He grabs the first name off the top and hands the pot over. His hands are shaking when he unfolds it and– well _fuck_.

There, in Mr. Fowler’s familiar print, is written: _Dan Howell._

\---

He should be working. There’s a banner ad he’s supposed to be designing to go with the company’s new campaign, but Phil opens the notes on his computer instead. He starts with _Comprehensive list of things I know about Dan._

Dan only wears black and white and, occasionally, silver. He likes stripes and turtlenecks and rarely wears button downs. His pants always cling to his legs. His shoes always look like he spent a week’s wages on them. He has an earring in one ear and curly hair and Phil _thinks_ he has a dimple, but Dan rarely smiles enough to tell. 

He is absolutely shit at answering emails. When he does, it’s usually the middle of the night, with a single word and no punctuation. Phil swears he talks like that in person, too, with his arms crossed over his chest and shrugs punctuating his half-hearted contributions. 

He does good work, though. Dan handles the company’s social media account and Phil’s laughed at his attempts to turn toilet roll relatable. And rolled his eyes at Dan’s attempts to turn every marketing image into a moody, “aesthetic” shot of toilet roll.

How can a toilet roll be aesthetic anyway?

Phil sighs, his hands collapsing onto the keyboard and filling his note with an endless chain of _kkkkkkkkk_. Maybe he should just print out one of Dan’s ads and frame it, call it a decoration for his loo. It would probably match the rest of his flat. 

Okay. Maybe not. 

He closes the note knowing he’ll never go back to it. Good gift ideas probably weren’t to be found in Dan’s work habits. Which meant getting to know Dan.

Phil grumbles and shoves the slip of paper with Dan’s name into his pocket so he doesn’t have to see it anymore.

\---

Dan’s desk is very unhelpful. 

There’s a whole three things on it: a black candle, a mug full of black pens, and a little succulent in a white vase which is annoyingly not made of plastic and far healthier than any of Phil’s houseplants. His desktop is still set to the default background and has Photoshop and Illustrator files lined up neatly on the right side.

“Um, what are you doing in my cubicle?”

Phil jumps, turning around. Dan’s holding a black and white mug, because of course he is. He has his arms crossed over his chest, brows furrowed, and eyes narrowed into a glare. Phil shoves his hands into his pockets just to keep them from hanging awkwardly at his sides. 

“Waiting for you?” It sounds too much like a question.

Dan frown deepens. “Why? We’re not working on a project together right now, and it’s not like you–” He pauses. “Why?”

“Oh,” says Phil. “I, uh, wanted your input on something. On a project. You have that, uh, whole aesthetic thing going.”

“You hate my aesthetic,” says Dan. He steps around Phil, sets his mug next to his keyboard, and drops into his office chair. “But fine, what do you want my advice on?”

Phil swallows, trying not to bounce on his toes. “Oh, um. I forgot my notes? And my USB!” he says a little too quickly. “I’ll email you about it?”

Dan’s brows furrow. He leans further back in his chair, shrugging one shoulder. “Sure, whatever, I’ll give you my feedback.”

“Thanks,” says Phil. He nods once, sharp and quick, turns on his heel, and leaves.

Back in his cubicle, he wastes fifteen minutes of his workday throwing together an image of toilet roll over a split yellow and red background, just so he has _something_ to validate the lie. He sends it to Dan with a quick: _Here’s the thing I needed your input on. I think it’s a little empty. Let me know what you think!_

Dan’s response takes an hour. He’s edited the PSD so the background is split between light grey and black, added a grid to the black half, and the company’s slogan in an all lowercase sans-serif font. His email reads: _Tried to fix it for you. Try to actually put more effort into it next time, maybe._

Phil groans and has to force himself not to drop his head onto his keyboard.

\---

He waits a couple days before cornering Laura in the break room.

Or, well, more accurately he awkwardly follows her into the break room, head dipped and hands fidgeting at his sides. He draws his much from the cupboard and makes coffee even though he never actually finished his last one, just to occupy his hand as he watches Laura lean against the counter, waiting for her snack to microwave.

He clears his throat, wincing at how pointed it sounds. “You talk to Dan sometimes, right?” he says. 

Laura’s brow hitches. “We work together so, yes,” she says. “Any particular reason?”

“Just, uh, wondering if you’ve gotten to know him,” says Phil. He takes a sip of his coffee, still so hot it burns his tongue.

“He doesn’t really talk about personal stuff much,” says Laura. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t sleep super great, if his mornings are anything to go by. He might be into video games? I think he mentioned it once.” The microwave beeps. She turns, takes out her pastry, and starts peeling away its plastic wrap. “Does that help?”

Phil shrugs. “A bit.”

Laura smiles. “Sorry about that. He’s not really an open book.”

“Yeah,” says Phil. He stares down at his coffee, milk swirling in the black. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Good luck,” says Laura. “Oh, and by the way, you might want to be a little more subtle around him.”

Phil’s cheeks burn. “Yeah, will do,” he mumbles, and leaves the break room.

\---

The team goes out for drinks on Fridays.

Phil usually goes for an hour, sips at one fruity cocktail, smiles and nods his way through small talk about hi co-workers partners and kids and, his favourite, dogs before leaving with a half-hearted excuse. Daphne and Laura leave side by side, purses slung over their shoulders, waving and reminding him to join them later.

He hums, saves his work, and shuts off his computer.

Most people are already gone. Mr. Fowler is still holed up in his office, blinds drawn, slashed with light. Michael and John head to the elevator, adjusting suit jackets over their shoulders. A few cubicles down, Dan stands up, so tall his head pokes far over his cubicle walls.

He runs his fingers through his hair, tugging at the curls. His eyes squeeze shut and blink back open. The neckline of his jumper hangs over one of his shoulders.

Phil swallows. “Hey, Howell,” he calls.

Dan turns to him, eyes narrowed. “What, Lester?”

Phil reaches back, drawing his coat over his shoulders just so he feels less awkward. “You should come out to drinks tonight,” he says. “It’ll be fun.”

Dan shrugs. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m not really a big social person,” he says.

“Neither am I.” He walks around his cubicle. Dan’s pulling his own coat on, following the same path as Phil to the elevator. “I always ditch them after, like, an hour.” He jabs the elevator button, looking over at Dan as he comes to stand at Phil’s side. “You could leave with me.”

Dan’s brow quirks, the corner of his mouth hitching up, and something warm and squirmy settles in Phil’s stomach. The smirk falls from Dan’s face a second later.

“You’re being weird,” he says.

“Your mum’s being weird.”

He clamps his mouth shut, cheeks burning.

Dan stares at him, mouth half open. “Did you just ‘your mum’ me?”

Phil shrugs.

He can still feel Dan’s eye on him when he says, “Fine, I’ll come to drinks. But I’m leaving after an hour flat.”

“Sounds good,” says Phil, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as the elevators ding open in front of them.

\---

The bar is dark. Michael and John are sipping beer in the far end of the booth. Daphne and Laura each have a martini sitting in front of them, with Phil’s usual pina colada occupying the empty space next to Laura. They all look up, eyes widening when they see Dan. Daphne scoots over, closer to Michael, and pats the empty space next to her.

“We didn’t know you were coming,” she says. “I, uh, wouldn’t know what you want anyway.”

Dan smiles. “It’s fine,” he says. 

He goes over to the bar and returns with a cosmopolitan, bright pink against the black and white of his jumper. His gaze stays locked on the table as he sits down. Daphne glances at him. Laura opens her mouth, then closes it, like she doesn’t know what to say. Phil usually hums along to whatever conversation is already buzzing around him.

Today, he clears his throat and asks, “What’s everyone doing for the holidays?”

Laura immediately launches into the story about how she ended up needing to go to her in-laws this Christmas. She’s been complaining about it non-stop around the office, how she lost the coin toss to decide whose parents she and her wife would spend their first Christmas with since the wedding..

Dan takes a sip of his drink, smiling over the rim of his glass, amusement crinkling the corner of his eyes.

Phil can’t help but mirror it.

\---

They stay for more than an hour. 

Phil learns a few new things about Dan. His family lives in Wokingham. His little brother’s vegan. They have a dog named Colin who is, apparently, the main reason Dan goes home for the holidays. He’s pretty good at small talk when he actually bothers to pay attention, better than Phil is. He likes video games enough to give John advice about what to get his daughter for Christmas.

He’s halfway through his second cosmo, and Daphne’s halfway through a story about her mum, when he nudges Phil’s foot under the table.

“Wanna play a game of darts?”

Phil looks over. The group that was there is packing up their things, leaving the board unoccupied. 

“Um,” he says. “It might pose a risk of bodily injury.”

Dan eyes his glass, his second drink not quite half empty. “You can’t be that drunk yet.”

“Not drunk,” says Phil, chuckling. “Just clumsy. It’s my natural state of existence.”

He watches Dan narrow his eyes, tilting his head like he’s assessing the risk. He shrugs one shoulder, and pushes himself up from his seat. “I’ll stand behind you,” he says.

“Even that might not be safe,” Phil mutters, even as he stands from his seat. Laura turns to look at him, brows furrowed and lips parted on a question, but she turns away when she spots Dan, a small, almost knowing smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Phil tries not to analyze the anxious sort of squirming it makes his insides do. Or how much worse it gets when he turns to find Dan staring at him, dimples popping in his cheeks.

So he does have dimples after all. Huh.

“If you stab me, I’m making you spend the night in A&E with me.” Dan laughs.

He plucks the darts from the board and hands half of them to Phil, pushing Phil off to the side so he can go first. Phil knows he’s going to lose the second Dan settles into a semi-passable dart-throwing position, closing one eye and launching it at the board. It lands, just barely, in 19 _._ The next two land in 20 and 5. 

Phil’s first dart barely even lands on the board, wedging itself into the black space outside the numbers.

Dan laughs. Phil wants to be offended, but when he turns Dan’s eyes are bright, smile so wide Phil can see just how deep his dimples are.

His laugh is _loud_ when it’s not the half-hearted chuckle he offers at work.

Phil wishes he had his drink with him when he forces himself to swallow. “I’m more of a video game person,” he says. “I can play a mean game of Mario Kart.”

Dan’s brow quirks, smile settling into something far too mischievous. “Oh, yeah?”

He nods.

“Well then, how about we have a Mario Kart tournament next time,” says Dan. “You can show me your mad skillz.”

“Did you just _say_ ‘skills’ with a zed?” 

Dan shrugs. 

Phil laughs, wondering how this side of Dan never comes out in the office. Probably because he’s too busy sending all lowercase sarcastic emails. “Sure, sounds good.”

Dan grins and just … stares. It makes Phil’s chest go tight. Then he nods his head towards the board.

“It’s still your turn.”

“Oh,” says Phil. He turns back to the board, and throws both darts without thinking.

Dan spends the rest of their game whinging about how Phil managed a triple 20 without even trying.

\---

Phil tries to find Dan a gift for Dan over the weekend, but he still doesn’t know enough. He’s pretty sure Dan doesn’t like playing darts enough to want his own set that Phil bought off Amazon.

Even if he did find some with a silver stem and a pitch black end that would go perfectly with Dan’s aesthetic.

\---

Dan finds him after work on Monday, bag slung over one shoulder, gaze flicking between Phil’s eyes.

“You still up for that Mario Kart match?” he asks. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and stares at the lit up elevator button like it offended him.

“Tonight?”

He expected next Friday, maybe, when the rest of their coworkers return to the bar. Or maybe for the offer to stay unspoken until one of them leaves the company and they never see each other again. Not Monday. And not with Dan fidgeting like he is, fingers coming up to adjust his collar over and over again.

“Only if you’re free,” he says. “Just figured you might want your, like, revenge sooner rather than later.”

“Oh,” says Phil. “Yeah, I’m free.”

Dan smiles, just slightly. Phil can’t see his dimples. He’s not sure why that’s so disappointing.

“My flat’s near here, if you wanna come over,” says Dan. “I have Mario Kart 8 Deluxe, of course.”

“Of course.” Phil feels himself smiling too.

\---

Dan’s flat is exactly how he expected it to be.

The walls are white and the furniture’s black. The floor is a dark hardwood. There’s throw pillows with the exact square grid he uses in ads all the time sitting on the sofa, and what probably counts as modern art hanging on the wall. He has a bookshelf full of what Phil’s pretty sure is philosophical texts, dotted with little knick knacks. Tall grey curtains hang over the windows.

On one wall, there’s two paintings side by side, each of them fully black and white except for a rainbow that arcs between them.

“I like your art,” Phil says, pointing at them before he can think better of it.

Dan turns and flushes pink. “Figured you’d choose the one spot of colour in the entire flat to compliment.” He turns to Phil, eyes a little wide. “I had to compromise the monochrome aesthetic for a bit of pride, I guess.”

Phil’s heart does some sort of somersault, but the smile that spreads across his face is easy. “It fits in perfectly,” he says. “I’ve never really had trouble fitting my pride into my aesthetic.”

Dan laughs, even as his cheeks go darker. There’s a spot by his jaw that goes bright red when he blushes, Phil notices.

It’s cute.

“Now I’m just imagining your entire flat covered in rainbows,” he says.

“You should see my pride flag wallpaper,” says Phil. “Goes perfectly with the rainbow sofa.”

Dan turns to him, eyes fully wide. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Please tell me you don’t think my taste is _that_ bad after working together in graphic design for a year.”

For some reason, he feels weirdly tense. Dan’s gaze trips over his button down. It’s actually black today, but covered in cartoon corgis that Phil’s pretty sure clashes with Dan’s ideal look. When he looks back up, though, there’s a smirk drawing at his mouth, happy crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“I don’t,” he says. “It’s different, but it actually looks good a lot of the time.”

It makes something unravel in Phil’s chest, tension escaping as a quiet, “Oh.”

“We should try to blend them sometimes. We could probably make something pretty cool,” says Dan. “But not tonight. No more work today, just Mario Kart.”

Phil smiles, finally stepping further into Dan’s flat as he leads him into the lounge. The modern-looking sofa is actually pretty comfortable, and Dan has one set of brightly coloured joy-cons that he hands to Phil. He sits down, too, turns on the game, and starts setting up his character.

They’re watching the countdown for the first race when he turns to Phil and says, “Oh, I forgot to mention that I can also play a pretty mean game of Mario Kart.”

He can. Phil loses that game, too.

\---

He’s not sure how it happens, but by the next week, video game nights at Dan’s place become a regular occurence. 

They play Splatoon on Wednesday. And Halo on Friday, which is followed by a few drinks over Domino’s on Dan’s sofa, and then by another round of Mario Kart that Phil almost manages to win. Dan has a movie collection and watches anime and Phil stays over so late that he takes a cab home to avoid strangers on the tube. Dan gives him his number that night. 

Phil texts him on Saturday, when the long hours at home by himself suddenly start to feel long.

Martyn comes over Sunday and teases him for constantly looking at his phone.

Laura corners him in the break room on Monday, closing the door behind her. There’s a grin on her face, a sparkle in her eyes that makes Phil want to flee. 

“So,” she says, “what’s up with you and Dan?”

“What do you mean?”

“You skipped drinks Friday to hang out with him,” she says. “You guys went from glaring at each other, to smiling. Something happened.”

Phil thinks about the slip of paper with Dan’s name on it, tucked away in his desk drawer. He still hasn’t bought Dan his gift.

“We have a lot in common,” he says, shrugging one shoulder. 

It’s true. 

And if Phil spends a bit too much time thinking about how pretty Dan’s eyes are, or how soft his curls look, well, that’s for him to know.

\---

The Friday before Christmas, he goes over to Dan’s flat again.

They get pizza again, an order that has somehow grown so familiar Dan doesn’t even ask before ordering. He tosses Phil his usual joy-cons with a grin and taunting, “Do your best, Lester. You still haven’t beat me.”

His eyes get sparkly when he’s competitive. Phil wonders how he never noticed that in office meetings when Dan so obviously wanted to do the best work. How he never noticed that his disinterest falls away the second he starts to feel comfortable around people. How prominent his collar bones look when his jumpers fall off his shoulder.

Dan yells a lot while he plays Mario Kart. Stuttered swears fall from Phil’s lips. 

He’s managed to win two out of the first three races today. One more and he–

“Yes!” he shouts, tossing the joy-cons onto the sofa. Dan comes in second, so close behind him that they bump into each other the second they’ve both crossed the finish line.

“Well, fuck,” Dan mutters. His joy-cons end up on the coffee table, arm propped up over the back of the sofa. He turns to Phil, his smile wider than it was any time he’s won. “You did it. You stole my crown.”

Part of Phil wants to point out that a one to five ratio doesn’t make him the overall champion.

A much bigger part of him doesn’t care.

Dan’s eyes dart all over his face. His smile doesn’t fall so much as it goes soft, content. Phil’s fingers twitch on his lap, suddenly wishing he’d kept holding the joy-cons just so he could aimlessly press buttons. He tries not to stare at Dan’s dimple. Or eyes. Or mouth.

But then it’s saying, “How do you feel about fraternizing with coworkers?”

Phil blinks. “Um, I’ve never tried it,” he says. “You?”

Dan chuckles. Phil’s cheeks go warm. 

“Thinking about it quite a lot right now, not gonna lie.”

Phil almost asks _who?_

But then Dan’s shifting closer and his fingers are curling around Phil’s shoulder and his eyes are locked on Phil’s mouth and– _Oh._

Phil smiles. Dan hums against Phil’s lips. His hand lands on Phil’s thigh, fingers digging into the fabric of his skinny jeans. Phil grips at his jumper, holding on tight.

He’s still smiling when Dan pulls away, breaths coming shallow and fast.

“I think I like it,” he says.

“Huh?”

Phil giggles. “Fraternizing with coworkers,” he says. “It seems pretty nice.”

He feels Dan’s laugh rumble under his hand, feels it warm against the side of his neck when Dan leans in close, pressing his forehead against Phil’s shoulder.

“You’re such a dork,” he says.

Phil kisses him again.

\---

He doesn’t call a cab that night. Dan’s hands slide into his hair and Dan’s jumper lands on the floor and Dan’s bedroom, Phil learns, is just as monochromatic as the rest of his flat. They stay up too late, eat cold pizza naked in the middle of the night, and actually settle in to sleep when the clock says 4:17.

Phil doesn’t actually get back to his flat until Saturday afternoon, still wearing his work clothes and carrying his bag.

It’s entirely Dan’s fault for choosing not to put on trousers while he made breakfast. 

\---

He buys Dan’s gift on Sunday and pays for the fastest shipping even though it _technically_ puts his gift above the budget. It’s a last minute choice, maybe not what he would have gone with had he had more time. Or less office constraints. There’s probably a few not-office-appropriate things Dan would like from him.

But he’s pretty sure Dan will like this, too, so it’s worth it.

\---

The office Christmas party is on the 23rd, after the company has closed and their computers have been shut off.

Mr. Fowler brings pastries and coffee. Laura brings cookies that are supposedly a failed batch—not in-law worthy, she calls them—but taste delicious anyway. Daphne provides the decorations. Phil brings a veggie tray he bought at Tesco over his lunch break. Dan walks in with a cheap bottle of wine.

Michael makes them sit around in a circle, all the gifts at the center. “It’s more fun to open them together,” he says. “Trust me, I’ve had years of perfecting secret Santa for some pretty annoying relatives.”

Dan huffs a laugh under his breath.

He sits next to Dan. Laura and Daphne are at the opposite end of the circle. Laura grins at him, and Phil stares at a box wrapped in paper covered with candy canes.

They go around the circle, Mr. Fowler watching from the sidelines. Laura got Daphne a sushi-making kit. John got someone Phil doesn’t know a box of chocolates. Laura got Doris a gift card to go bowling with her grandson. Phil’s knee is bouncing by the time it gets to him.

He reaches into the pile and pulls out the tube his gift is in, handing it over to Dan.

“Wait, for me?”

“Yup,” says Phil. “For you.”

Dan looks up, a strange look on his face that’s not quite happy, but definitely not upset. He pulls the top off the tube without looking away from Phil, reaching inside. Phil realizes a moment too late that he probably expected a bottle of wine or something, because it takes Dan a second to realize a paper surrounds the edge of the tube.

He pulls it out slowly, brows furrowed. Phil reaches over to take the wrapping from him, so Dan can unfurl it with two hands.

It’s a print of the patent for the Nintendo 64 controller, the background black and drawings in white. Dan’s face lights up when he sees it, both dimples so very deep when he turns to Phil. Saturday morning feels like forever ago, suddenly. Way too long to go without seeing Dan smile like that.

“It’s perfect,” he says. “It’ll go great in the hall.”

Phil smiles. “Yeah, I was thinking–” He clamps his mouth shut. Laura’s already laughing at him.

“Your turn, Dan,” says Mr. Fowler. 

Phil watches Dan reach into the pile. He grabs a box wrapped in silver paper, and hands it over to Phil.

“You got me?” he asks.

Dan grins. “Uh huh.”

“You guys got each other?” says Laura. “What kind of rom-com shit is this?”

Phil keeps his cheeks go hot. The patch by Dan’s jaw flares red. He motions to the box on Phil’s lap with a quick tilt of his head, his soft smile lost to a laugh when Phil starts tearing the paper to shreds. There’s another box inside, this one covered in red polka-dots. 

“Seemed more your style,” Dan whispers as Phil lifts the lid from it.

Inside, there’s a Bulbasaur shaped flower pot, a perfect 3D replica of the Pokemon that couldn’t have been easy to find. Phil’s finger trips over the spots on his snout as he looks up to find Dan staring at him, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

“I love it,” says Phil. 

Dan smiles, even wider than before. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he repeats. “You nailed it.”

The corner of Dan’s mouth crooks up, a hint a laugh falling from his lips. Phil’s smiling too when his toes jab at Dan’s shin.

“Oh, shut up,” he whispers.

The rest of the circle has already moved on to John’s gift.

\---

They sneak out into the hallway while the rest of the party’s still going.

Dan’s hands land on his waist, eyes locked on his lips.

“I wanted to ask you something,” says Phil.

“Yeah?”

He swallows, reaching out to play with one of the buttons on Dan’s shirt. “I’m flying out to visit my parents tomorrow,” he says. “But I come back the twenty-seventh. I was wondering if you might want to get coffee or something?”

Dan’s gaze finds his. “Like, a date?”

“Yeah, like a date.”

He watches the smile bloom wide across Dan’s face, eyes crinkling, dimples deep. He clutches tighter at the fabric of Phil’s shirt, stepping closer until they’re pressed up against the wall.

“Sounds great,” he whispers. “But it’ll have to be at, like, Starbucks or something. My brother usually sends me home from the Holidays on a vegan kick.”

Phil chuckles, feeling Dan’s own chest rumble under his hands. “Sounds perfect,” he says. “I still have a few of their Christmas drinks on my to-try list.”

Dan’s response gets lost in a kiss.


End file.
